


Strangers in the Fog

by g0lightly



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, F/M, Post-War, Romance, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-27
Updated: 2013-12-27
Packaged: 2018-01-06 08:10:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1104481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/g0lightly/pseuds/g0lightly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-war Draco Malfoy, unemployable and destitute, decides to end his life. As he prepares to jump from the London Bridge, he meets Astoria Greengrass, who is there for the same reason. They convince each other to step off of the ledge, and an unexpected romance grows from the ruins of their old lives. Originally posted on FF.net about three years ago, but starting a new life here.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Strangers in the Fog

**Author's Note:**

> First off, I published this about three years ago on FF.net, but never brought myself beyond the first chapter. Still, I thought about it a lot and plotted the majority of it in my head. Finally, I've decided to breathe new life into this story here on AO3. It's been edited quite a lot since its original publication, and I actually intend to continue the story this time.
> 
> Secondly, I wanted this to be a realistic, gritty account of the mental and emotional hardships that Draco and Astoria must have dealt with following the war. If at any point their issues seem glamorized, PLEASE TELL ME IMMEDIATELY. The use of serious mental issues as plot devices sickens me, and I understand the fine line this story needs to walk.
> 
> Lastly, I am not JK Rowling and do not own any rights to Harry Potter. Do people do disclaimers on this site? I'm a newbie.

Draco sprayed a cleaning solution on the counter of Quality Quidditch Supplies. He picked up a handkerchief and began to rub the potion around the marble in a circular motion. He had sweat on his brow from the summer heat and the awful radiator that his boss, Mr. Skrimish, insisted on running all year. Even late at night, the place was sweltering.

Mr. Skirmish walked out of the stockroom with an angry look on his squat face and a box of snitches in his arms. He dropped the box of snitches next to where Draco was cleaning in a way that promised a lecture. "Malfoy, didn't I tell you to cover that Dark Mark up? But here you are, rolling up your sleeves, broadcasting it to the world."

Draco glanced at his forearm. "It's the middle of June and you keep it like a bloody furnace in here. What else am I supposed to do?"

"Your Dark Mark is scaring a lot of people. And, to be frank, your customer service skills are terrible. I've only let this fly by because you know more about Quidditch than anyone else willing to reduce himself to a menial job,” Skirmish lamented. “You’re a drunk, you’re rude—people leave the establishment in droves as soon as they lay eyes on you.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Merlin, Skirmish, it’s not my fault this place is a failure.”  
  “You’re fired, Draco.”

At first, he was silent and stony, but within a moment's notice, Draco knocked the box of snitches to the ground—shattering them—and stormed out of the shop.

Skirmish ran to the door, his wrinkled face even redder than usual. “You broke an entire shipment of snitches, Malfoy! You owe me 80 galleons!”

“I haven’t got a single fucking galleon to my name!” Draco shouted as he ran through the dingy alleyway.

A hazy summer fog seemed to swallow all of the sights of Diagon Alley as Draco ran to his apartment.

He stumbled occasionally as he climbed up the metal stairs, the fog making the steps nearly impossible to see as he hurried towards his door.

Draco swiped his hand at the scarcely visible doorknob a considerable number of times before finally latching his hand onto the knob and entering the minuscule flat.

Upon slamming the beat-up metal door shut, he screamed in frustration. He stomped over to his ripped couch and threw himself down onto it. Draco glared at the lamp, and before he realized what he was doing, he knocked it off its stand, much like the box of snitches.

He looked around the bleak room. He stared at the white walls, covered in only water damage spots and an unpleasant glare from the flickering fluorescent lights. _How am I going to be able to pay my rent?_ Draco thought. _Money was difficult enough even when I had my job, and this is one of the cheapest rents in Diagon Alley ._

Draco sat and sulked in his tiny flat, trying to think of a solution of some kind, but nothing seemed to come.

As he stood up to walk out the door, he took one last look at the little place before setting the note he had written on the kitchen table.

The fog had increased tenfold, and it was unusually dark for a summer midnight. Draco was unfamiliar with Muggle London, but even he knew where to find the London Bridge.

He trudged along the sidewalk of the bridge until he'd reached a point in the middle. There weren't any boats, and it seemed pretty rocky from what he could tell.

He took a sharp breath to prepare for his jump, when he saw a figure drawing near, barely visible in the fog. Draco made no movements until he felt something land on his foot.

"Ow!" he shouted.

"Sorry! So sorry!" the girl said hurriedly. "I didn't see you, you know, with the fog and all." She paused. "Draco Malfoy?"

He took a closer look at her face. "Daphne Greengrass?"

She rolled her eyes and frowned. "Astoria."

"Oh." Draco wasn't exactly sure what else to say. Adrenaline still coursed through his body, and the sudden calmness was unwelcome. "So, what are you doing here?"

"Well, I _was_ about to plunge to my death in the River Thames, but it's a bit obscene to commit suicide in front of a man you scarcely know." Astoria blurted breathlessly.

“Well, you’re awfully forward,” Draco said.

He could now tell that her pale face was completely flush. “It’s not like I’ve got anything to lose.”

Draco looked down into the waters of the river, fog swirling around the rocks. "We're here for the same reason, then."

Astoria tilted her head. "You're here, standing on the London Bridge, about to end your life, because the Ministry of Magic is after your family for supporting Voldemort, anyone who's ever been close to you have left because of the said Ministry fiasco, and—" Astoria shook her head, dark hair swaying. "No. It's okay. It's a long story."

"We have similar reasons,” Draco said.

“Do we?” Astoria asked.

“I'm here because I’m unemployable because of my involvement with the Dark Lord, I have no chance of paying my rent or even buying food because of that, I've never been close enough to anyone to realize they've abandoned me until it's too late, and ending my life is better than living a lonely, penniless life," Draco clenched his fists. "Besides, I'd probably die of pneumonia or starvation soon enough anyway."

Astoria kept silent. _You don’t have to be alone,_ she thought to herself. He was still that same perfect boy she had found so beautiful when he was a sixth year and she was a lowly first year--but he was a man now, and much had been lost since those days.

She felt Draco looking at her. "Do you have a way home?" he asked.

"Who said anything about going back there? I'm not expected back. No one will notice I'm gone, not even if my brains were strewn across those rocks down there." Astoria answered glumly.

"I don't think you should." Draco said, an idea hatching. "I can help you. You can help me. Loneliness is a common burden for us. At least we can keep each other company."

Astoria shook her head and stared at her feet. "I can't go back there..."

Draco put a hand on her shoulder. "You don’t have to. You can stay with me. In my apartment. I've got a couch that folds out into a bed, I’ll sleep there and you can take my bed."

She beamed. "Really? I'd hate to burden you."

"It's not a problem. Really. It’s so lonely up there." Draco answered. “Take my hand, I don’t want to lose you in the fog.”

“Things are going to get better,” Astoria remarked as she grabbed his hand

“I couldn’t agree more,” Draco replied. Despite her pretty face and warm hands, Draco knew what he liked best about Astoria Greengrass—her money.


End file.
